


Silk Stockings For His Love

by kittykatknits



Series: Pluck a Red Rose Blowin [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, R plus L equals J, Smut, The Starklings Are Alive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-12 19:45:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10498203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittykatknits/pseuds/kittykatknits
Summary: He led her backwards to the chair by her dressing table. “Sit down and raise your skirts for me.”Jon fell to his knees before his wife and looked up at her, watching as she bared her legs. He slid his left hand up her calf to the top of her thigh, delivering a series of light kisses in the path just created.---Inspired by a certain scene in Poldark, Jon brings home a gift and a declaration for his wife.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This turned out to have way more of a Jon POV than I planned but it's what happened so I went with it.

Jon rode through the east gate, grateful to be back at Winterfell.  It had been well under a sennight, a short stay on Cerwyn lands, but even that was too long now. If Jon could, he would spend the remainder of his days ensconced within the castle walls, tucked away from the world with his family. He was the second most powerful man in their kingdom, a prince and the Hand, yet all Jon wanted was the feel of Sansa’s arms and the laughter of their children at play. 

Sadly, his dreams would stay just that, dreams. In the years since the war, the duty of ruling took an ever greater demand on their time. As Robb’s attentions increasingly shifted south, northern responsibilities had fallen on his shoulders. Northmen were not ones for travel, preferring to keep to their own halls and hearths. So Jon, as his uncle once did and the Starks before even him, found himself visiting keeps and holdfasts more than he would wish, whether to dispense justice or to remind their bannerman of Stark power. 

It was these travels, so necessary, yet painful, that were the source of his discomfort. Every time, every journey, whether one day or the next, Sansa would reach out to him in an attempt to bring him home. He would feel her, as if somehow her arm would reach across the distance to grab onto him, pull him back to Winterfell. Her voice would settle into his mind, he would hear her whispers, the fear she never uttered aloud. The fear he had created.

Jon had long ago ceased to wonder how she did it. If one cousin was a prophet, if Robb could slip into eagles, then Sansa could communicate as no person should. They were Starks, descended from Bran the Builder and the old Kings of Winter, their gifts given to them by the old gods. 

Jon had already taken his horse to the stables when he passed Robb by the maester’s turret. Both still kept their early morning hours, a habit only reinforced during their long months at war. 

Robb smiled at him in greeting. “Welcome home, brother. You ready for a good grovel?”

Jon sighed. “She still upset then?” He had hoped to be wrong.

“You took her son, what did you expect?”

“A bit of understanding, I should think. Ned has passed his seventh nameday, he won’t be a boy forever. It’s well past time he begins to learn how to rule.”

Robb laughed, saying only “Yes, best start your apologies with that, I’m sure your wife will agree. I wish you luck.” He turned away to continue with other tasks. Jon could still hear his laughter across the courtyard. 

Jon went towards their bed chambers, the sky was still grey in the early morning light, Sansa would still be preparing for her day. Robb had spoken in jest but was not far wrong. As Jon walked, he rehearsed his words, planned how to take away the fear he had created within her. Jon also held the gift he had been keeping for her, hoping it would help to provide further reassurance. 

He entered their rooms to find Sansa clad in only a robe, sitting at her dressing table with her maid in attendance.

“Jon.” She was surprised, he had not been expected until later in the day.

Directing his gaze towards her maid, Jon said, “I’ll see to my wife, you can go.”

The woman said nothing, giving him a brief curtsy before quietly stepping from the chambers. 

Jon took in his wife as she slowly stood before him. In their years together, she had only grown more beautiful to him. Even as a girl, he had thought Sansa radiant with her blue eyes and the red highlights in her rich, auburn hair. Now though, what he loved most was her voice as she sang to their three children, her arms as they held each other at night, and the feel of her hair spread across his chest after their lovemaking. 

“Where is little Ned?” She asked him, her words an echo of the whispers in his mind.

“He’ll be along shortly, he’s with Arya. We both know that makes him the safest child in all the seven kingdoms.” 

The whispers stopped.

“Do you plan to take him away again soon?” 

He swallowed, allowing himself a moment before giving her his prepared words. “It was only for three days, Sansa. The  boy will rule one day, we both know…” He trailed off, it was a wasted effort. She knew all this. “Sansa, I….”

“Yes, Jon?”

His wife understood why he took Ned with him, she took as much care with their children’s education as he did, likely more. It was easy for one to think Sansa was not scarred from her many painful years in King’s Landing and the Vale. She had been abused and felt abandoned. Then, he had left for war, gone for so long, many had thought him dead. Jon had returned to her, as he had promised he would. But, it had not been enough. Sansa would never admit to it, likely did not fully realize it, but that old pain would come back every time he left Winterfell. And with it came the whispers. 

“Do you know when I fell in love with you?”

“No, I don’t believe I do.”  As she spoke, Sansa walked towards him, coming to a stop so they almost touched, reaching out with one hand to stroke his beard in that way she did. Sansa’s gaze fell on his lips before slowly moving upwards to meet his own. 

“The very day I found you. You had on that worn, grey dress and your cheeks were rosy from the cold with smudges of dirt on them. “ He paused to briefly wind her hair around one hand. “Your long hair, it was mussed and snarled from travel and your cloak was almost threadbare. Do you remember that?”

Sansa gave him a gentle smile. “I grew to hate that dress.”

“You looked a vision in it, to me. I took you in my arms and we held each other, I could feel your breath on my neck. After, you put your hand on me, just as you are now. You said seeing me again was even sweeter than you had imagined. Do you remember?”

Her eyes were beginning to tear up. “I told you the gods brought us together, they knew we needed each other.”

“You did, and in that moment, with your dirty face and mess of hair, I fell in love with you then.”  

Jon spoke no further, placing one hand to cup her cheek and slid the other through the silk of her hair before leaning in to kiss her. They stayed together, needing to touch and taste the other after being parted. 

After a few minutes, Jon reluctantly pulled away. He took in her dazed expression and swollen lips, feeling a bit of pride that he could still bring out that reaction even after all these years. 

“I brought you something.”

She gave him a devilish smile. “Plans for another picnic in the woods?”

Jon snickered, amused. “No, not today anyways.”  That day was a cherished memory for them both, he had always sworn he put Benjen in her during that picnic. He led her backwards to the chair by her dressing table. “Sit down and raise your skirts for me.” 

Jon fell to his knees before his wife and looked up at her, watching as she bared her legs. He slid his left hand up her calf to the top of her thigh, delivering a series of light kisses in the path just created. 

He pulled forth the small package he’d tucked away, slowly pulling the ribbon apart to loosen the small square of linen fabric. “I found these some time ago in winter town, the color made me think of you. They're the same shade of light blue I see you wear, I thought you would like them.”

Sansa reached out, running her hands across the silk stockings, taking in the detail of the lace and ribbon trim. “Jon, they're beautiful.”

“I would see them on you.”  He took her left foot, placing it on his knee, feeling the weight of her gaze on him as he worked. Jon took one of the stockings and slowly pulled it over her foot and past her ankle. He slid it part way up her calf, pausing to kiss her knee and thigh once more. He finished pulling the stocking up, gently smoothing it against her skin before tying the blue ribbon around her thigh. 

They looked at each other, neither speaking a word. Jon rose slightly, leaning over Sansa to kiss her once again, reveling in the feel of her lips against his before moving to kiss her cheek. Jon lightly pulled her hair, pushing her head back in order to better kiss along her neck. “You said the gods led us to each other. We swore in front of them by the heart tree the day Robb brought you to me. I promised you once again in that same spot,” he whispered to her.

Sansa laughed, the sound coming out as a light tickle against his ear. “You kept your promise to me.” He could feel her arms leave his waist, her hands moving up his chest. “Take me to bed.” 

Jon needed no further incentive, pulling apart the ties of her robe and sliding the silken fabric off so she stood bare before him. He followed her, quickly removing his own garments, before bending down to lightly lick and suck at one nipple and then the other. 

“Your wife grows inpatient.”

“Your husband begs forgiveness.”  

They grasped tightly to each other, connected by hands and arms and tongues, moving together towards their bed. Somehow they managed to climb in, a mix of limbs, their lips in an unending kiss. 

Jon moved to lay between Sansa’s legs, lightly petting her hair. “So you are not to be rid of me, my love.”

She moved her arms around his neck, smiling up at him. “So I am not to be rid of you, my love.”

He slipped into her, quiet moans escaping from both of them. Jon set a gentle pace, wishing to savor every moment and touch with her, loving the feel of her legs locked around his hips and the light scratches of her nails against his back. 

All too soon, Sansa began crying out his name in that way he knew so well, begging him, demanding more. Jon increased his pace, began thrusting into her, his movements growing in speed and urgency. Quicker than he would have thought, Jon felt the muscles of her cunt against his cock and he grew frantic, spilling into her after a few more frenzied thrusts. 

They lay together, their faces flushed and the light sheen of sweat covering both their bodies. Jon looked down at Sansa, wanting to memorize her in that moment. “You are the love of my life.”

After a minute, Jon moved to lay down on the bed, pulling Sansa so she lay across his chest, spreading her hair in the way he liked. They would need to get up shortly, he had not yet seen Benjen or Lyanna and Ned would be back soon as well. 

“Did they miss me?”

Sansa chuckled. “Lyanna says you promised to take her riding and Benjen spoke another word.”

“Of course he did, and I missed it.”

She reached up, lightly kissing him on the lips. “Do you wish to go see them?”

Jon gave her a suggestive grin. “Soon. I’m not done with you yet.”

She let out a surprised yelp as he quickly flipped them over, pinning her beneath him. They didn’t need to get up quite yet.  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I've got a series of one-shots thought out for this world so I may come back to revisit it in the future. In this story, Robb is a mix of Dwight and Francis, sorta.


End file.
